


devour me, colossus

by kimaracretak



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, POV Switches, Post-Canon, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Smut as Character Work, Unhealthy Relationships, Wax Play, probably not quite hatesex but definitely creepysex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-12 22:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13556580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak
Summary: (you fill my lungsam i undone?):Not Dottie's fault Whitney's broken pieces are the tricky little ones that don't fit back right the first time. Not Dottie's fault she's had to take them back, try again.Or; Dottie, Whitney, and something that is not quite a conversation about the future.





	devour me, colossus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Wavesinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wavesinger/gifts).



> Set in a very nebulous post-canon time when Whitney is no longer locked up. This isn't quite any of your specific prompts, but when I saw your pairings + general/thematic likes, I had to write something, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title + summary quote from Ne Obliviscaris, '[Devour Me, Colossus (Part I: Black Holes)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=njcIyK2qGb0)'
> 
> Beta'd by Marvel rarepair queen and all-around delight @something_pithy

"You know, Peg misses you."

Above her, Whitney makes a sound of irritation that would be pure adorable if it wasn't accompanied by a sharp tug on her hair. "Of all the people to bring up."

Dottie hums, unconcerned, and goes back to using her tongue to trace the thin black lines of zero matter under Whitney's thighs. Pretty things, curlicues just like her hair used to be. Cracks in a mirror, perfect shattered chimes for you to fit your teeth around.

Bite down and let your mouth fill up with her, better than glass, better than blood.

Peg's always here. Why should Whitney be the only one with secrets under her skin?

You've had worse things there, anyway. At least Peg loves you, much as she can. Loved Whitney, maybe, if she was smart enough to dig through those silly knots of pity she kept tripping into.

Not Dottie's fault she knows Peggy better than she does. Not Dottie's fault Whitney said yes first, likes being tied up in different knots.

Dottie smirks down at the bruise blooming on Whitney's inner thigh, so pretty between its lipstick ring. No neurotoxins now, not for Whitney. Different shades, too. Camera-pink, lens-flare-coral, new and thrilling with it even when the audience is just one.

Changing's just fine, when you're learning from the best. And Whitney is, else she wouldn't be here.

"You wanna tie me up again," she muses, trails a finger across Whitney's stomach and watches the muscles jump under her fingers. So many little pieces all working together to move. Build her up, make her fly and fight again. Dottie's not used to putting other people back together, but it doesn't mean she has no experience at all.

Not Dottie's fault Whitney's broken pieces are the tricky little ones that don't fit back right the first time. Not Dottie's fault she's had to take them back, try again.

Whitney's a scientist, she knows how it goes.

"You wanna see if you can break me again. Just you." Dottie doesn't ask questions anymore. No fun when you know all the answers already, know every pitch and length of Whitney's moans in response to what you say. One day, though, Whitney's gonna be able to ask questions again, and then — oh, then the real game starts again.

"We both know I can." Whitney's nails drag across Dottie's scalp, sharper now that she's free. Now she's half-blood all-power and doesn't have to claw at her own skin to make room.

Dottie likes nails like that, likes how they tug at the roots of her hair when she turns her head to Whitney's stomach instead of her cunt, dips her tongue into her navel and walks her fingers feather-boa-light up the stepladder of her ribs. Not what Whitney wants, but all she deserves right now.

Whitney wants to split her open, cheater-girl. Wrong and electric with it like Peg never will be, too beholden to rules that aren't theirs. She managed it once, even before Peg, and gave Dottie a taste for something she'd not even known she was missing.

Proven herself before Dottie'd realised she was part of her game and, oh, the _joy_ of something new, fizzy-sweet and aching in parts of Dottie's bones she'd never shown, filling her up until she could burst with it, a different kind of phoenix-free.

So much trust you need before you can even try for the breaking, and Whitney had yours before she ever asked in words.

But Whitney has to ask nice if she wants to do it again, and she's not good at that. Good at other things, like canting her hips up so sharp the jut of bone catches on your chin. Like grabbing the candle off the nightstand, tilting it til the wax pools on top of your hand, her own breast.

Glued together, like you needed the reminder. Like there was still a world where there was Whitney without Dottie, Dottie without Whitney, either without Peggy.

It doesn't hurt you, least not as much as Whitney wants it to, really not as much as it must be hurting her. Dottie plays at it anyway, like she knows Whitney likes. Easy, really — whine a little, press your hips into the mattress and angle them enough that you drag your clit across the sheets, and you're just as shivering and sweat-damp as she thinks she's made you.

Not Dottie's fault Whitney's off her game right now. Not Dottie's fault she wants to have a little fun before Whitney harnesses her power and learns to _share_.

Candle-heat at your hand, the warmth of Whitney's sex at your mouth, the building burning of pleasure in your own cunt — it's all too much, like all you've ever wanted.

It's not losing if you take her with you, Dottie thinks as she feels the slow, delicious uncoiling of pleasure make its way up her body. Heat to heat as Whitney shudders slick across her face, dripping down her thighs, Dottie's chin, more binding than wax.

Not Dottie's fault Whitney's pinned under her mouth. Not Dottie's fault Whitney doesn't want to leave yet.


End file.
